War Wounds
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: With the house to themselves, the Bransons decide to spice up their love life... unfortunately, not everything goes to plan.


_**So this is a response to one of those 'imagine your OTP' prompts on Tumblr - It doesn't satisfy it exactly, but I thing there's definitely the potential for another chapter... if you all want it, that is. So enjoy and call it part of my Christmas gift to you all! :)**_

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_**September 1921**_

She sneaks up on him in the library, admiring his backside in the cut of those trousers as he leans over the desk to study some of the maps of the estate. A wicked thought crosses her mind (not for the first time) and, with the family away and their daughter tucked up in bed for her afternoon nap, she decides that now is as good a time as any…

Tom gasps as a pair of hands cover his eyes, catching him completely off guard. The sound of his wife's giggling and the feel of her body pressed so tantalisingly against his sends a bolt of desire straight down his spine and into his groin.  
"And what to you want?" he asks.

"You," she whispers into his ear caressing his shoulders and back, her fingers tracing the contours of muscle beneath his shirt. "You and only you… here and now."

His jaw drops - he's always known her to be quite the insatiable little minx at times but this is something else entirely. "But… won't we get caught?"

"Oh darling, where's your sense of fun gone?" Sybil asks with a sigh. "Everyone downstairs will be having lunch, Saoirse is asleep and my family aren't due back from Scotland for hours… besides, don't you think the danger of being caught adds to the excitement?" She gasps as he turns round and somehow manages to move her so that their positions are switched and he's got her pressed up against the desk, his hands coming to rest on her hips and his eyes staring intensely into hers.

"You'll be the absolute death of me," he says, leaning in to trail a line of kisses up her neck and across her jaw before finally reaching her lips. She sighs in delight as his tongue meets hers, her fingers raking across his scalp and tangling in his hair. He pulls away from her, breaking their kiss so that he can lavish his attention on her neck again, smiling against her skin and bucking his hips against her so that she can feel the effect she's having on him as she sighs in delight. His hands caress her breasts through the fabric of her dress - he's always loved her breasts, but they've changed since having the baby just over a year ago now, just as the rest of her body has. In the months following the birth, Sybil had become somewhat self conscious about her body (which her mother had assured her - when told in the strictest confidence - was completely normal), but Tom had adored it. She had refused to make love to him whilst completely naked, loathing the scar that ran across her belly from the cesarean but, somehow, he'd managed to make her feel beautiful and confident again, telling her that he was proud of his warrioress and the battle scars she bore. While he's a fan of the fact that the latest fashions allow for the freedom to go without a corset, there had always been something rather erotic about catching a glimpse of stocking when one wasn't supposed to see under the longer hemlines of days gone by. Not that he cares though, his wife is stunning and she's here, now, wanting him as much as he wants her.

She reaches down and unfastens his belt and trousers, grinning as her hand sneaks into his underwear and begins teasing his hardened prick. He groans loudly and he manages to keep his composure long enough to stop her from sinking to her knees.  
"No time," he sighs. "I need you now."  
She nods and pushes down his underwear, letting them slide down his legs to pool around his ankles with his trousers, watching with fascination as he strokes himself several times whilst she reaches under her dress to remove her own rather damp knickers. His mouth finds hers again as he lifts one slender leg up around his hip, frowning in confusion as she stops him.

"Not like this," she says with a devilish smirk. "I have an idea." She turns her back on him and leans across the desk, giving him the most glorious view of her pert backside.

It's not hard for him to guess what it is exactly that she wants him to do and he has to confess that he's had this fantasy for so very long now it's hard to think of a time when it wasn't somewhere in his mind. He enters her in one quick thrust, the pair of them moaning as their bodies come together. His grip on her hips tightens as they settle into a rhythm, their moans and sighs becoming louder and louder, increasing the risk of getting caught. She was so right though - it does add to the excitement.

"Oh, God," she cries, her fingernails biting into the polished wood of the desk as she feels that familiar pressure starting to build. This position had become something of a favourite when she was pregnant, but they hadn't really indulged in it since Saoirse's birth and they had most certainly never done it outside of the bedroom (well, not including back in their cosy little flat in Dublin, a place where they'd fucked in every room and against every piece of furniture at least several times).  
"More, please more," she begs. "Don't… aaahh… don't stop."  
"Fuck," he curses as he moves harder and faster, burying himself deeply into her and feeling his balls tighten as he begins to reach his peak. Snaking a hand around her waist, his work worn yet incredibly nimble fingers find her clitoris, rubbing it in time with each thrust of his hips.

He leans forward intending to kiss her as they come to stop them being heard but, as he does, she screams his name and flings her head back, her skull colliding with his nose with a rather loud and unpleasant sounding 'crack'.

"FUCK!" he yells, slipping out if her as he puts his hands over his nose.

"Oh God!" Sybil replies as she realises what she's done. "I'm sorry! I didn't… You're bleeding!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he says. He thinks that things can't possibly get any worse until he backs away from her as she tries to help, only to get his foot tangled in the mass of clothing round his ankles and topples to the floor.

"TOM!" Sybil shrieks as she drops to her knees beside him. "Darling, let me look," she begs as she tries to prise his bloodstained hands away from his face. He refuses and tries to squirm away from her, whimpering like a wounded puppy. With a sigh, she straddles him in an attempt to keep him pinned down, the blood long since drained from his cock and now apparently pouring out through his nose. He gives in then, knowing that she has him trapped and allows her to insect the damage. She'd seen far worse during the war - men with limbs missing, their internal organs spilling out of gaping wounds, gunshot victims on the streets of Dublin, but seeing her injured husband still makes her gasp and recoil in horror.

"I… I think it's broken," she says, pinching his nose to try and stem the bleeding.

Tom's eyes widen in horror. "What?!" he gasps. He's a hypochondriac at the best of times (a trait that has, by complete coincidence, only developed since he married and incredibly beautiful nurse).

Sybil rolls her eyes. "It's not that bad… It's not out of place anyway. That saves us an incredibly awkward trip to the hospital at any rate…"  
She's spoken too soon about things being awkward as, at that moment, the door to the library swings open and in walks Thomas.

The under-butler tries his best not to smirk as he surveys the scene before him - the former chauffeur and his employer's youngest daughter caught in a somewhat compromising position on the library floor.

"Thomas!" Sybil shrieks, trying her best to maintain her ladylike composure as her husband tries to conceal what little remains of his modesty.

"Forgive my, m'lady," he replies, biting his bottom lip. "But Nanny says Miss Saoirse has woken up and is getting rather fussy."

Sybil nods. "Alright, I'll be up in a moment," she says. "Thomas, could you go downstairs and fetch a bowl of water and something cold for Tom's nose? He… Well he's had a bit of an accident."

Tom glares at his wife as much to say "a bit?".

"Of course, m'lady," he replies with a slight bow of his head as she leaves the room to tend to her daughter.

"Don't," Tom warns as he sees the look his former colleague is giving him. "Don't say a word."

Thomas quirks an eyebrow and doesn't bother to fight his smirk this time. "I wouldn't dream of it… Sir."

_**-xxx-**_

Dinner is a quiet affair that evening - the family are fatigued after the long journey back from Scotland, none moreso than Mary for whom the final months of pregnancy are beginning to take their toll. Everyone is quiet, presumably saving talk of the trip for after dinner. Sybil keeps shooting apologetic looks across the table - he's been miserable all day (as is his way when he's either ill or in pain) and she's beginning to suspect that he's just toying with her in not accepting her repeated apologies.

"Good lord, Tom," Robert exclaims a he notices the bruising around Tom's eyes for the first time. He's never really been all that observant where his son-in-law is concerned. "What on earth happened to your face?"

Sybil's eyes widen in horror and her gaze flickers from Tom to Thomas and then back to her husband.

"I fell over," he says quietly. "Saoirse left one of her toys lying round. I tripped over it and fell into to the door."

Sybil holds her breath, praying to God that her family buys the story an no more awkward questions are asked. To her relief, her father chuckles and shakes his head.

"Ahh yes, I had a few war wounds of my own when the girls were little."

Mary's hand finds hers under the table and leans in close to her little sister. "Darling, I found something of yours in the library," she whispers. "I'll save you the embarrassment of telling you what it was, but I left them on your bed."

Sybil cringes - she'd forgotten about those. "Thank you," she replies.

"They wouldn't have anything to do with Tom's nose now, would it?"

"How did you..?"

Mary chuckles. "Do you remember Matthew's broken toes last Christmas?"

"Yes," she nods. "Where his horse stamped on his foot?"

Mary raises an eyebrow. "That was the official line, yes."

Sybil giggles. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"You'll need to be sure to make it up to him."

Sybil looks across the table and seductively sucks a mouthful of dessert from her spoon as she meets his eyes. "Oh I will… Don't you worry about that."


End file.
